


Do-Over

by FinnWritess



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Battle, Blood and Gore, Death, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Introspection, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Pain, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Time Travel, Violence, it's in chapter three, this entire fic is me traumatising schlatt and not giving him a break ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinnWritess/pseuds/FinnWritess
Summary: Schlatt wishes he could look at Quackity without a wave of emotion threatening to drown him. He’s seen the light die from the eyes of the man now grinning wildly at him, seen his blood drench the ground and paint a small portion of the earth crimson. He’s watched Quackity die, and it’s not easy seeing him alive again.Part of him wants to hug him so tightly his ribs crack. The other part of him wants to run and run and run, and pray that if he leaves, Quackity will live. Thateveryonewill live.-OR-Schlatt's the reason the entire world was destroyed, leaving all supplies diminished everyone dead but him. He time travels to attempt to fix it; a second chance to stop his past mistakes.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt
Comments: 11
Kudos: 145





	1. Twice elected

**Author's Note:**

> I WAS TRYING TO FULLY FINISH THIS BEFORE POSTING BUT I COULDNT HOLD OFF ANY LONGER SO UH
> 
> welcome to my most ambitious fic yet. enjoy the ride :)

Dust falls off of Schlatt as he pushes himself off the grass. The portal behind him warps and twists, making soft, unnatural sounds. As he cautiously looks around, he realises he’s done it. There’s trees again, and grass, and animals; everything he played a major hand in tearing and burning to the ground is here, right in front of him, real again. 

Tears form in his eyes and he doesn’t have the heart to blink them away. He’s not that close to the nation- or what should be barely the beginnings of it, if he got the time right- and he needs to get moving, but he lets himself have a small moment of silent appreciation. It’s something he’s never done before; simply stepped back and taken in his surroundings and the moment he’s in, but it’s something he intends to do far more often.

Schlatt inhales deeply and starts walking. Grass and leaf litter crunches underfoot as he travels deeper into the forest, dim sunlight filtering faintly through the heavy leaf cover. He has some items from the future; a netherite pick, a half-broken diamond axe, and a few loaves of bread. Enough to get him through a trek, but not much.

He breaks the treeline as the sun is setting. In the dimming light, he can make out the beginnings of structures not too far in the distance. It hurts knowing that if he doesn’t get this right, everything here will be gone. 

Schlatt continues on. As he draws nearer, he realises there’s no one in sight. Everything looks abandoned.

It’s then that he notices just beyond it all the looming, overshadowing wall. His mouth turns dry.

He’s not near the start of it at all. The structures he’s found aren’t going to be completed. He’s arrived in time to see the downfall of L’Manberg.

Schlatt’s right on time to be elected as President.

*********

The air is so thick with the smell of battle that Schlatt can almost taste it. There’s blood and sweat and the smell of burning flesh; looking on at this fight from a distance, one he never got to see originally, he realises how awful it is. Both sides seem to be willing to fight tooth and nail, to risk it all, over the bare beginnings of a country. It’s easier to see how it escalated from here when you notice the desperation in the eyes of those fighting for their freedom, and savage cruelty of those trying to lock them under their rule.

He wishes so badly he could step in and get them all to stop, but as he watches one sword blow catch Tommy’s arm on fire, he knows it’s pointless. They have weaponry far beyond Schlatt’s own, considering how little he brought with himself, and they’re not going to stop fighting just because he asks them to. 

Still, it’s haunting to watch something he’s only ever heard about occur in real-time. The ground is growing muddy as blood mixes with soil, and even the mobs seem to be steering clear. It’s a war no one wants to involve themselves in except for those already locked in combat.

Schlatt might know that no one dies here today- not permanently, anyway- but he still finds himself holding his breath. Part of him wonders if any wars  _ he  _ was responsible for were this bloody, this gorey, this traumatic. They were probably worse, given how everything ended after the choices he made.

The sun rises and sets and the battle doesn’t end. It wages on and on until Eret’s betrayal, leaving L’Manberg’s warriors in shambles. Schlatt’s there to witness Tommy giving up his discs, far enough away to not be seen, but close enough that the pain in Tommy’s expression is clear. He tries not to think too much about how bad it got later in his timeline, about the way no one, least of all the teen boy he can see right now, got to stop and take a breath.

The election is right around the corner now. Schlatt doesn’t want to win. Not again.

Wilbur put so much effort into this nation. Fought a small war, commanded respect. But Schlatt knows better than to fuck with the timeline more than he already plans to.

So he turns away from the scene, not bothering to watch Dream and Tommy part ways, and prepares himself to win the election for a second time.

*******

“We’ll pool our votes together. We can’t lose then.”

Schlatt hates this so much. “With me as President and you as my Vice, everything will go our way.”

Quackity practically beams. “Fuck yeah it will! Wilbur won’t know what hit him.”

Schlatt wishes he could look at Quackity without a wave of emotion threatening to drown him. He’s seen the light die from the eyes of the man now grinning wildly at him, seen his blood drench the ground and paint a small portion of the earth crimson. He’s watched Quackity die, and it’s not easy seeing him alive again.

Part of him wants to hug him so tightly his ribs crack. The other part of him wants to run and run and run, and pray that if he leaves, Quackity will live. That  _ everyone  _ will live.

But he can’t take the chance that it won’t. That they’ll all fight anyway, run their swords through each other, burn the entire world and leave nothing behind. So he roots himself firmly in place and vows to make sure this time, they all survive.

“I should prepare a speech,” Schlatt says, wishing he didn’t have to force out the words. They taste bitter on his tongue, and the knowledge that his victory is barely a day away makes his stomach churn.

Quackity’s eyes gleam. “You’re going to banish them, right?”

Schlatt stares at him, seeing the excitement in his expression, and wishes he wasn’t feeling the exact opposite. “Yeah, I think so.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t think that at all, but he knows Quackity will back out in a heartbeat if he doesn’t imply this as a promise. Besides, what politician ever followed through on their promises?

“Good.” Quackity grins wider than before. “Let’s go win this.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Schlatt’s stomach as he forces himself to smile back. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “Let’s go win this.”

*********

Schlatt’s lungs don’t seem to want to fill with air when he steps up to the podium, elected President for what is, technically, the first time. It’s hard to form words when he knows how this will play out. Harder still when this time he himself saw the walls of L’Manberg get torn down, watched the battle play out and stepped onto the battlefield after it was over, seeing the blood splash up onto his shoes.

No one died, not permanently anyway. It didn’t mean it was any easier watching people gut each other, watching arrows slice open the throats of people he knew and send their bodies tumbling to the wet, peaty earth. 

“Citizens of L’Manberg,” he begins carefully, and there’s his first change; continuing to refer to the country by its original name, “I am honoured to be your President.”

The unease in those watching turns to confusion faster than Schlatt can blink. He knows this is out of character for him, even if he’s barely been around before now to their knowledge.

“I’ll do my best to run this country well.” He gaze sweeps around the room; too many people look caught between nervousness and pure confusion for his liking. “And to listen to the concerns of its citizens. I’d like to congratulate the other parties,” Schlatt raises a hand to gesture at the other people on the platform, “For giving me a good run.”

The audience is starting to murmur. He decides it’s time to wrap things up before the questions start being launched his way.

“Thank you.” It’s simple, but enough to indicate the speech is over. He steps back and down, and the murmur raises to a loud buzz. Quackity is quick to reach his side, and his expression alone has Schlatt bracing for questions.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

Schlatt exhales heavily. “I know.”

“You said you were going to exile them.” Quackity’s tone is barely above a harsh whisper.

“I know.” Schlatt wishes his heart didn’t twist at the look of pure betrayal in Quackity’s expression.

“Why didn’t you?”

Schlatt takes in a breath. He can’t say anything truthful; how in hell is he meant to explain that, anyway? That if he exiles them it just leads to countless wars until the entire nation is dust and rubble and the skin and bone of its citizens have fused to the core of the earth?

“I had a change of heart,” is what he finally settles on. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Quackity’s stare seems to pierce his soul. “You seem… Off.”

“I’m thinking about what’s best for the nation.” It’s an effort not to raise his voice out of habit, to not yell and scream at the other for questioning him. “They’re both smart, good people. They’ll strengthen us, not tear us apart.”

Quackity’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before he tears it away. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

  
Schlatt exhales heavily.  _ Me too,  _ he thinks, staring down at the ground and the small, very alive daisy just by his foot.  _ Me fucking too. _


	2. White House of Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt starts to fully feel the effects of stepping back into the place he made most of his bad decisions in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS MEANT TO HOLD OFF ON POSTING THIS CHAPTER TOO BUT IM EXCITED ABOUT THIS FIC OK

The White House is full of bitter memories. The air inside is as stale and stiff as he remembers, and the urge to leave is overwhelming. But he doesn’t, and he can’t.

“It’s big, huh?”

Schlatt barely glances at Quackity, who’s perked up again and grinning like always. It’s hard to focus on anything but the walls around him, which feel like they’re pressing in and crushing him. His chest tightens, like a heavy weight has been set upon it, as he thinks of all the irrevocable damage he caused from right here.

Of the way the choices he made within these walls wiped the smile from Quackity’s face so long ago.

“Hey. You alive?”

Schlatt snaps back into the moment at the concern in Quackity’s tone. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Just like that, Quackity’s grinning again. “Plenty of time for that now, Mr President.”

Schlatt can’t breathe. He’s going to throw up, or pass out, or both. He’s President again, the cataclysmic moment when everything starts to go to hell. Suddenly, he’s not sure he can do this.

The walls seem closer than before. The world seems to tilt, and he can’t fucking  _ breathe,  _ and he’s here again. He’s back in this place, he’s back to fuck it all up again. He’s back to watch everyone die all over again, because he’s not a good person.

Schlatt knows this now. He’s not a good person, and he never was. He needs to be better to fix it, to stop the deaths, but he doesn’t know how. He’s trying, lord knows he is, but it’s not enough.

His chest aches as he struggles to draw in a breath and fails. Everything’s beginning to blur. He’s dimly aware of Quackity, looking terrified.

_ I will fix this, _ he tells himself, and barely manages to take in a shallow breath.  _ I will. I’ll fix it. _

The next breath comes easier, and the next. He’s exhausted, and not sure what in hell came over him, but he’s breathing again. He’s not going to die here just because his stupid lungs won’t work.

_ Panic attack,  _ Schlatt’s tired brain dimly supplies. He also realised he’s now on the floor, dropped to his knees and flooded with exhaustion.

“Shit, shit, shit,” is the first thing he registers from the direction of Quackity.

“Fuck,” he agrees with a tired, lopsided grin as he meets his Vice’s gaze. “I hated that.”

Quackity’s features flood with relief. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

“I’m too young and stubborn for that shit.” Schlatt exhales heavily; has air always been this fresh, this pure and rejuvenating? It feels like God Himself is breathing into his lungs. “Help me up?”

Quackity doesn’t hesitate. It hurts, just a little, as he remembers how he fucked this up in the past too. How he ruined their friendship so badly that Quackity didn’t even bat an eye when he “died”.

They stumble down the White House halls, Schlatt barely able to walk properly. He just wants to sleep and sleep and never wake up.

Another thing that had to change this time around is the drinking. Drunk him will ruin everything, will scream and shout and throw things. If he’s sober, at least he has no excuse for his actions. 

“You need anything, I’ll be here,” Quackity says as they turn into one of the bedrooms and Schlatt immediately collapses onto the bed. 

“Thanks.” It’s the best he can manage right now, but by the way Quackity’s expression softens just a little, he knows his Vice understands. That a single word conveyed more emotion than even Schlatt was really aware of when he said it. 

As he curls up under the covers, the door shutting quietly as Quackity leaves, Schlatt wonders what love feels like. He thinks, maybe, it could be this; a warmth in his chest at the thought of Quackity, of what he’d do for him. Schlatt would move mountains for him, would reshape the earth, would do  _ anything  _ to let him live, to keep him alive and breathing.

Even travel back in time.

********

_ There’s fire blazing all around him. Distantly, he can hear screams. An explosion rocks the earth, and leaves the last building a pile of rubble. _

_ He spits blood and wipes dirt and grime from his chin. War is an evil thing, a force of destruction like no other that solves nothing. All it’s good for is sating a man’s desire to make things bleed. _

_ Schlatt turns slowly, clutching his axe and ignoring how beaten down his armour is. It’s this way that he finds himself face to face with Quackity, who looks horrified. _

_ “You caused this.” _

_ “We all caused this.” Schlatt grips his axe tighter. “You can’t say you’re fuckin’ innocent like you aren’t fighting right now. None of you can!” _

_ Quackity shakes his head, and takes a small pace back. “You exiled them, caused tensions to rise-” _

_ “For you!” Schlatt’s voice raises to be heard above the crackle of the flames. “You wanted them gone. Hell, half the things I brought in were for  _ you _ , and what  _ you  _ wanted!” _

_ Quackity’s gaze is unreadable. “I wanted none of this.” _

_ Schlatt’s hold on his axe loosens a little. “I wanted a better world.” _

_ “And look where that got you.” Quackity raises his sword, and it gleams wickedly. “You’ve fucked us all.” _

_ Quackity attacks. Schlatt moves without registering it, maybe an attempt to block, but instead his axe sinks into Quackity’s flesh. There’s silence, save for the crackle of fire and the distant boom of far off explosions, as Quackity stumbles back, spitting blood. _

_ “Fuck.” Schlatt moves forward to catch him as he falls, to set him down slowly and gently on the dirt below them. There’s too much blood, and Schlatt has no healing items with him. It’s Quackity’s final life. _

_ “It’s over.” Quackity laughs then, and it’s delirious, full of mirth only a dying man could feel. “You’ve won. You’re the last man standing.” _

_ “This isn’t what I wanted,” Schlatt says desperately. _

_ “Isn’t it?” Quackity spits more blood. “You wanted power. If you’re the only one left, all the power is yours.” _

_ “I wanted to build a better world for you.” Schlatt wishes he had more time to get Quackity to understand, but the man has already stilled. “I wanted a place free of violence. I wanted a system that worked.” _

_ His words fall upon a barren landscape. He’s the only one left. The sole survivor. _

_ Schlatt was the one to fuck over the world.  _

********

It’s dark, night covering the land with sprawling shadows and countless mobs. Schlatt stands alone at a window in the White House, itching for a drink or a cigarette, but he’s determined not to give in to the urges. Everything’s been startlingly peaceful since the Election, and he’s not sure if that’s due to his own choices or not. 

He’s noticed the odd mistrustful glance shot his way, and it hasn’t slipped his attention that Wilbur and Tommy both seem to avoid him. He doesn’t really deserve their trust anyway, even if in this timeline he hasn’t done anything to them. Just knowing that he was the cause of their deaths, that he was the one to incite war bad enough that they lost their lives, is enough to not make him question their mistrust.

Schlatt’s haunted by it all. By the explosion that destroyed half the nation, by the ghost of Wilbur that didn’t want to leave even after his death, by the way Tommy had screamed when, in that final battle, he’d been burned alive. He’d seen even Techno fall lifeless to the charred ground, watched as Dream finally tried to do the right thing but ultimately only bought those around him a few extra seconds.

They’d all died. Schlatt had seen it, had witnessed it all, and been the only survivor. Even if he managed to fix it this time, it wasn’t something he could shake anytime soon.

“It’s late.”

Schlatt exhales heavily, and doesn’t turn. “That’s the point. This place is so much calmer at night.”

From beside him, Quackity leans against the window, eyes trailing over the land below and the mobs spawning in the dark patches. “Monsters are calmer than people?”

“People are the monsters.” Schlatt turns to properly look at Quackity. “All mobs know is killing. They have no morality, no sense of good and evil. But people do.”

“You have a point.” Quackity pauses for a moment. “But it's still late. Don’t you have some meeting tomorrow morning?”

Schlatt takes a last look out over the dark landscape, over the towers and buildings and, inside, people sleeping peacefully. He wonders if any of them are plagued with nightmares the way he is.

“I suppose I should get some rest.”

Quackity nods. “Yeah. And, uh, Schlatt?”

Schlatt turns his gaze back to his Vice. “Yes?”

“If you need me, don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

Of course Quackity would be the one to notice his night terrors, and of course he’d be the one to offer support. If only Schlatt could take him up on it; but there’s no possible way for him to describe to anyone the things he sees. They range from abstract to painfully clear, reliving that final war or drowning in an endless abyss.

“I’ll be fine,” Schlatt says simply, with a small smile. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

With that, Schlatt turns on his heel and leaves. The night has somewhat soured, even if Quackity had simply been concerned for him. He’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep, but he can’t keep looking out over civilization anymore. It’s too painful to think of how it looks burnt to the ground, painful enough that he’d prefer to face whatever hellscape his mind can conjure up in his dreams this time around.

“Goodnight!” Quackity’s call echos down the hallway. Schlatt wishes he had the energy to respond, but with the entire world’s future weighing over his head, it’s all he can manage to get himself into bed. 

All he can hope is that it gets easier tomorrow.


	3. Angler Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt gets some brief respite from his grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOO ITS HERE!!! SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG
> 
> also the opening dream sequence in this chapter is a scene i've been excited for you all to read since posting chapter one,,, take your guesses at what it represents now and see how you weigh up later when i can tell you without spoiling the rest of the fic

_ The inky void surrounds him; it’s everywhere he looks, drowning him in darkness. He can move just a little, enough to propel himself in a similar motion to swimming, but he’s not sure where he’s going. _

_ Something flashes ahead of him, a bright, artificial red that glows so bright it's blinding. He swims towards it before he can think, and finds himself face to face with something akin to an angler fish. There’s massive blind eyes and sharp teeth as large as swords that glean and glisten under the harsh red glow. _

_ “I’m sorry,” Schlatt tries to say, but nothing comes out of his mouth. The thing before him seems to grin, wider, wider, wider. The red light flickers. _

_ Then, the creature darts forwards and swallows Schlatt whole. _

********

“Don’t move.”

Schlatt could almost laugh. “Wasn’t planning to.”

There’s a swordpoint just under his chin, tilting his head up enough that he can’t see who’s wielding it, but he doesn’t need to. It would take an idiot not to recognise the voice.

“Into the alleyway.”

Schlatt obliges, and the second the two of them are enveloped by shadow, the sword is pulled back. Techno’s expression is serious, and Schlatt remembers a time when Techno was intimidating, back before he’d even considered the possibility that the pig hybrid could ever die. Now, it was like staring a ghost in the face.

“My brothers aren’t happy with you.”

Schlatt snorts. “They were planning to win the Election, of course they’re not happy with me.”

Techno shakes his head. “They want you gone.”

“And you don’t.”

“No.” Techno sheathes his sword carefully, the blade glinting dully in the low light. “As out of character as it is for you, you’re doin’ some good things.”

Schlatt could almost laugh. “So you’re fine with a government now?”

“I don’t think you’re entirely bad.” Techno pauses. “But my brothers seem to. I don’t know if they’re plannin’ anything, but you’d do best to keep an eye out.”

Schlatt exhales. “Alright. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

He tries not to think about Wilbur blowing up L’Manberg in the original timeline. It’s past when that should have happened by a lot, but what if Schlatt’s efforts simply delayed it? If it still happens, will it set the gears into motion for other wars to follow?

No. That can’t happen. Schlatt won’t let it.

But how can he stop it? He can’t kill Wilbur and Tommy; that would start uprisings and end in just as much bloodshed. He’s not sure what to do. The thought that he may be powerless here terrifies him. 

How can he save everyone if he can’t prevent anything bad from happening?

********

“I dreamed of an angler fish in an empty void.”

Quackity tips his head slightly. “Symbolic shit, dude.”

Schlatt isn’t sure why he spoke in the first place, but there’s no backing out now. “It lured me in and ate me. I don’t know if it was meant to mean something or not.”

“I dreamed a talking whale took my lunch and ate it,” Quackity says. “Not everything has a meaning.”

But Schlatt can’t shake the feeling that it did. Something about the void around him, the way he felt lured in, seemed too deliberate for it to not represent something. His footsteps echo as the two walk down the pristine hallways of the White House.

“It  _ had  _ to mean something.” Schlatt wishes there wasn’t any desperation to his tone. “I know it.”

He thinks of the giant sharp teeth, of the red light, of the blind eyes. He remembers the screams of everyone as they died, remembers the smell of blood and burning flesh. The sounds of explosions echo in his head.

“Maybe you should think on it, then.”

But Schlatt’s had enough of thinking. He moves fast, pressing Quackity up against the wall of the hallway and kisses him like it’s the last chance he’ll get. He draws back for only a moment before Quackity’s pulling him back in. There’s some sense of desperation as they both press in as close to each other as they can.

There’s no rhythm to it, nothing beyond the hurried nature of it. They break apart only for Schlatt to toss his suit jacket in some random direction before they’re losing themselves in each other again. They move as one to stumble through the hall towards the nearest bedroom, and Schlatt all but throws Quackity onto the bed before diving in to kiss him again.

Quackity’s hands fly up to grip tightly to Schlatt’s shoulders. The ram-hybrid slides his hands just under Quackity’s shirt, enough to rumple the fabric and splay his fingers lightly across Quackity’s stomach. They seem to press impossibly closer to each other before Schlatt breaks the kiss to tug off his shirt, then crashes their lips back together again.

It’s frantic and heady, desperation woven into every action. Neither of them can think to slow down or take in the moment. When Schlatt breaks away again, Quackity all but tears his own shirt off. They’re both caught up in the need for each other as Schlatt leans down to mouth at Quackity’s neck. 

Quackity lets out a soft whine as the ram-hybrid sucks a mark into his skin, a hand trailing up to rest lightly on his thigh. It’s only moments later that Quackity is left just in his boxers, and it’s enough to make Schlatt pause for just a moment. In his timeline, he’d never had Quackity like this; they’d danced around the topic of being more than friends for too long, and then it all had fallen apart. Now, he’s here, Quackity beneath him in a way he never anticipated.

His beanie was lost somewhere along the way, leaving his hair to fall messily, framing his face in a mess of silky black strands. His pupils are blown, and he’s breathing heavily, and the hickies trailed down his neck so clearly mark Quackity as  _ Schlatt’s. _ He’s angelic, practically ethereal, and it’s enough to make Schlatt’s breath catch in his throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, barely audible even in the relative quiet of the room. 

But Quackity hears him, and visibly melts at the words. Their eyes lock for a moment before Quackity decides to reach up and tug Schlatt down into a harsh, needy kiss. It’s all Schlatt can do but run his hands reverently over Quackity’s torso, his thighs, his hips and back up to cup his face, committing as much of him to memory as he possibly can. 

Everything seems to slow down for just a moment. There’s a rhythm to their movements, and it turns from frantic to gentle, calmer. There’s a sense of reverence and something akin to love. 

Then the moment breaks, and Schlatt’s shifted over to retrieve lube from the bedside drawer. As in his timeline, there’s some in practically every room of the White House. That’s one of the things that’s stayed the same, at least.

He slides his free hand up Quackity’s thigh, earning a whine. The younger looks as needy as Schlatt feels, but still, he pauses.

“Is this okay?”

Quackity huffs. “If you don’t fuck me right now I think I might actually die.”

Schlatt surprises himself by laughing a little at this. He leans down to press his lips to Quackity’s once more, but this time the kiss is gentler, softer, and far shorter. They break apart and Schlatt’s quick to shuck off his own pants, leaving them both in their boxers.

There’s no slowness to the moments now. Schlatt hooks his fingers under the waistband of Quackity’s boxers, and practically rips them off him, throwing them in any random direction to be a problem for future Schlatt and Quackity. 

Quackity leans up to mouth at Schlatt’s neck, and moments later sinks his teeth into the ram-hybrid’s shoulder as a single finger is slipped just barely inside him. Schlatt slows a little now, cautious despite the copious amounts of lube he’s using. The last thing he wants is to hurt Quackity.

“Okay?”

Quackity presses a small kiss to Schlatt’s shoulder where he’d bitten him just moments before; there’s no blood, thankfully. “Okay,” he confirms.

Schlatt gives him a moment longer to adjust before very cautiously adding a second finger. It’s hard not to marvel at the way Quackity takes it, so easily opening up for him until he’s practically knuckle deep. He gives Quackity a moment to catch his breath before slowly moving his fingers; the reaction is immediate, Quackity’s hips jerking ever so slightly as he lets out a heavy, shaky breath. Schlatt grins.

“Fuck,” Quackity mumbles, his head dropping heavily back onto the bed. Schlatt can’t help but lean down to kiss him as he slowly starts to scissor him open. Quackity slides a hand into Schlatt’s hair, gripping tight. 

Schlatt’s patience for this wears thin fast. It’s not long before he decides it’s enough; his boxers discarded in a similar manner to his pants before he’s lubing himself up, then pressing into Quackity. He drops his forehead heavily onto Quackity’s shoulder, and for a moment there’s nothing but the sound of their own breathing throughout the room.

Then Schlatt bottoms out, and a moment later, after he’s managed to catch his breath, he lifts his head.

“I love you.” 

The words slip out before he can stop them, but he can’t even be mad, because he does. Love Quackity, that is. He loves him in ways Quackity can’t possibly understand, loves him for things that, in this timeline, he hasn’t even  _ done _ .

Quackity’s expression isn’t hard to read; there’s mild shock for a moment before his face softens, and he pulls Schlatt into a slow, soft, gentle kiss. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. The unspoken  _ I love you too _ is there all the same.

Then, so carefully, Schlatt begins to move. It’s slow, cautious. He’s unhurried, and very aware that if he’s not careful, he’ll hurt Quackity. He’s hurt too many people, and he’s not letting himself hurt Quackity ever again if he can help it.

Neither of them last long. They’re not embarrassed by it, too drunk on each other to care. When they draw apart, it’s only to quickly clean up before they’re pulling each other close and settling in to sleep.

Schlatt’s exhausted, and the realisation that this is the first time since his arrival into this timeline that he’s felt anything but grief almost drives the breath from his chest. He’s not happy. That’s not what he’s feeling.

It’s more akin to contentment. 

With Quackity curled into his side, peacefully sleeping, it seems like things are going his way. Maybe, he thinks, this time, he’ll do things right.


End file.
